


Ring Ring

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: FUCK, Gen, me consistently churning out short chapters that may or may not be good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fucking phone callsHazel is beginning to get fucked up even more mentally like she wasn't already





	

‘Hazel? Oh thank god, you’re safe.’ Barbara replied, obviously relieved in the tone of her voice.  
‘Yeah, yeah.’  
‘Where are you?’ she asked.  
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I dodged telling her I was in London, halfway across the world.  
‘Aw, c’mon, you can tell me.’ Barbara insisted.  
‘I can’t.’ I said through gritted teeth.  
‘What are you doing, then. Surely you can tell me that.’  
‘I’m…’ I looked around, thinking about what I could tell her. ‘I’m at home.’ I lied.  
‘No you’re not!’ Barbara replied.  
‘How the fuck did you know that?!’ I said, shocked.  
‘Trust me, you haven’t been at school for a few days and you haven’t been active online since you were at school.’ Barbara sassed.  
‘Well shit.’ I muttered.  
‘Seriously, Hazel, tell me. Are you with someone right now?’  
‘Yeah… I’m with someone.’  
‘I didn’t think you had a boyfriend!’ Barbara replied.  
‘Fuck no!’ I replied. ‘If I told you who I was with, you’d never fucking believe me.’ I said truthfully.  
‘Fuck you then.’ Barbara exclaimed. ‘Oh shit, look at the time. Gotta hit the deck.’  
‘Yeah, you probably should, y’know.’ I replied, looking at my first watch to see what the time was there, as my second watch showed me the Greenwich Meridian Time. It was after eleven in the evening back home, a fourth day about to begin of my disappearance.  
‘Please don’t tell anyone about this call, especially my parents.’ I demanded.  
‘Why? Can’t I just tell them you’re OK?’ Barbara queried.  
‘You can say I’m fine, but don’t utter a fucking word to my parents. It’s better if they know nothing.’ I reaffirmed. I ended the call then and there, refusing to talk to even my best friend anymore. I felt emotionless and cold from that very move.  
‘Nice, just leaving your parents clueless.’ John said, slight traces of disappointment clouding his voice.  
‘They’d fucking kill me! Dad would get drunk and fucking lose it, and my mum wouldn’t even need the alcohol!’ I exclaimed. I suddenly realised something. ‘They’ll fucking find me anyway, passport trails and shit.’ I gloomed.  
‘Then I know where to go. Hamburg, Germany.’ George finally spoke.  
‘Why Hamburg?’ John asked.  
‘I needed a base of operations.’ George said. ‘C’mon, we’ve got a flight to catch y’know!’ he said, already walking towards the entrance of a Tube station. John shrugged, and we both followed him. My first experience on Tube train was practically alone, with two people I’d known for two days minimum. To blend in, I stuck my headphones in my ears and shuffled my music. The sweet melodies of songs like ‘Please Please Me’ to the instrumental versions of ‘From Me To You’ and ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’, and the coarse rock and roll of ‘Can’t Get No (Satisfaction)’, ‘Another Brick In The Wall’ and ‘Think For Yourself’ and then my favourite songs I owned on my phone, ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ and ‘Got My Mind Set On You’. I was amazed at how long the trip took, and I was still listening to them as we pulled into the airport, sitting listening while we sipped overpriced airport drinks, and realising that the music was draining away every thought that bound me back home. The flight was short, like every good song is. I didn’t need to repack much, with only a change of shirt and jeans. Airports never change, with a mess of colour and blacks, random parts of conversations forming complete coherent sentences. I found myself humming ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ even though I wasn’t even listening to music at all. George lead the way to a dirty building, two storeys tall. An inconspicuous building, it was probably around during The Beatles’ early days, when they performed in the Star Club and the Kaiserkeller. It was hard to tell, with a bay window one upon the other in a turret, and the grey could have either been soot and pollution or paint. That very bay window was its only distinguishing feature upon its façade. But internally it was a mod pad, with white walls leading onto psychedelic feature walls and bright pop-art furniture. The narrow staircase was even white and colourful.  
‘So this is where you’ve been living.’ John said, admiring the stained glass light coverings on the ceiling lights.  
‘Yeah, I didn’t go wandering around the world four times over.’ George replied.  
‘As I said, I’m a real nowhere man…’ John began to sing.  
‘Don’t you fucking start.’ George smiled. He was now leaning on the island kitchen bench.  
‘Anyroad, where do you want us to ditch our shit?’ John asked.  
‘Go upstairs, fight over the two rooms on the right.’ George said, twisting slightly on the spot to orient himself, before nodding. ‘Yeah.’  
‘Alright then.’ John rushed towards the stairs, but because I was closer I beat him, getting first dibs on the room I wanted. John actually ended up with the room he wanted, the front one. I got the room with the bunk bed but instead of a bottom bunk there was a small cupboard and a desk with a shelf. The room was small, the size of my room at home, with a shelf of books that George must have collected over the years, and a couch in the corner. There wasn’t much in the room, but the white made it seem so much bigger than it actually was but the one psychedelic wall pressed ever closer. I shoved my suitcase at the bottom of the wardrobe and headed back downstairs. Even though it was five in the afternoon, I was completely drained of energy and I could feel the sickness take hold. I had brought a book downstairs with me, so I read that until tea was ready. George had managed to pull together a ravioli dish from supermarket ready-made sauce and dehydrated pasta, and I was happy to eat it. I thanked him for it, and I felt like I had to do the boring yet necessary chore of the washing up.  
‘No, you rest.’ He must have been able to see the utter exhaustion in my eyes. I went upstairs, had my first shower since I’d been at home, put my phone onto a much-needed charge and collapsed in the bed and slept a silent, untouched sleep.  
~To Be Continued~


End file.
